Miss Brill
Katherine Mansfield
Although it was so brilliantly fine 8211; the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques 8211; Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting 8211; from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again. She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes. 8220;What has been happening to me? 8221; said the sad little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown! 8230; But the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn 8217;t at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind 8211; a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came 8211; when it was absolutely necessary 8230; Little rogue! Yes, she really felt like that about it. Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed. And when she breathed, something light and sad 8211; no, not sad, exactly 8211; something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.
There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than last Sunday. And the band sounded louder and gayer. That was because the Season had begun. For although the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it was never the same. It was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it didn 8217;t care how it played if there weren 8217;t any strangers present. Wasn 8217;t the conductor wearing a new coat, too? She was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music. Now there came a little 8220;flutey 8221; bit 8211; very pretty! 8211; a little chain of bright drops. She was sure it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her head and smiled.
Only two people shared her 8220;special 8221; seat: a fine old man in a velvet coat, his hands clasped over a huge carved walking-stick, and a big old woman, sitting upright, with a roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak. This was disappointing, for Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn 8217;t listen, at sitting in other people 8217;s lives just for a minute while they talked round her.
She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go soon. Last Sunday, too, hadn 8217;t been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife, he wearing a dreadful Panama hat and she button boots. And she 8217;d gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good getting any; they 8217;d be sure to break and they 8217;d never keep on. And he 8217;d been so patient. He 8217;d suggested everything 8211; gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads inside the bridge. No, nothing would please her. 8220;They 8217;ll always be sliding down my nose! 8221; Miss Brill had wanted to shake her.
The old people sat on the bench, still as statues. Never mind, there was always the crowd to watch. To and fro, in front of the flower-beds and the band rotunda, the couples and groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of flowers from the old beggar who had his tray fixed to the railings. Little children ran among them, swooping and laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins, little girls, little French dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. And sometimes a tiny staggerer came suddenly rocking into the open from under the trees, stopped, stared, as suddenly sat down 8220;flop, 8221; until its small high-stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed scolding to its rescue. Other people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly always the same, Sunday after Sunday, and 8211; Miss Brill had often noticed 8211; there was something funny about nearly all of them. They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as though they 8217;d just come from dark little rooms or even 8211; even cupboards!
Behind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down drooping, and through them just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with gold-veined clouds.
Tum-tum-tum tiddle-um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! blew the band.
Two young girls in red came by and two young soldiers in blue met them, and they laughed and paired and went off arm-in-arm. Two peasant women with funny straw hats passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured donkeys. A cold, pale nun hurried by. A beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy ran after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them away as if they 8217;d been poisoned. Dear me! Miss Brill didn 8217;t know whether to admire that or not! And now an ermine toque and a gentleman in grey met just in front of her. He was tall, stiff, dignified, and she was wearing the ermine toque she 8217;d bought when her hair was yellow. Now everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes, was the same colour as the shabby ermine, and her hand, in its cleaned glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny yellowish paw. Oh, she was so pleased to see him 8211; delighted! She rather thought they were going to meet that afternoon. She described where she 8217;d been 8211; everywhere, here, there, along by the sea. The day was so charming 8211; didn 8217;t he agree? And wouldn 8217;t he, perhaps? 8230; But he shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep puff into her face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match away and walked on. The ermine toque was alone; she smiled more brightly than ever. But even the band seemed to know what she was feeling and played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat, 8220;The Brute! The Brute! 8221; over and over. What would she do? What was going to happen now? But as Miss Brill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as though she 8217;d seen some one else, much nicer, just over there, and pattered away. And the band changed again and played more quickly, more gayly than ever, and the old couple on Miss Brill 8217;s seat got up and marched away, and such a funny old man with long whiskers hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over by four girls walking abreast.
Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved sitting here, watching it all! It was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could believe the sky at the back wasn 8217;t painted? But it wasn 8217;t till a little brown dog trotted on solemn and then slowly trotted off, like a little 8220;theatre 8221; dog, a little dog that had been drugged, that Miss Brill discovered what it was that made it so exciting. They were all on the stage. They weren 8217;t only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. Even she had a part and came every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn 8217;t been there; she was part of the performance after all. How strange she 8217;d never thought of it like that before! And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from home at just the same time each week 8211; so as not to be late for the performance 8211; and it also explained why she had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She was on the stage. She thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden. She had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched nose. If he 8217;d been dead she mightn 8217;t have noticed for weeks; she wouldn 8217;t have minded. But suddenly he knew he was having the paper read to him by an actress! 8220;An actress! 8221; The old head lifted; two points of light quivered in the old eyes. 8220;An actress 8211; are ye? 8221; And Miss Brill smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently; 8220;Yes, I have been an actress for a long time. 8221;
The band had been having a rest. Now they started again. And what they played was warm, sunny, yet there was just a faint chill 8211; a something, what was it? 8211; not sadness 8211; no, not sadness 8211; a something that made you want to sing. The tune lifted, lifted, the light shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of them, all the whole company, would begin singing. The young ones, the laughing ones who were moving together, they would begin, and the men 8217;s voices, very resolute and brave, would join them. And then she too, she too, and the others on the benches 8211; they would come in with a kind of accompaniment 8211; something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so beautiful 8211; moving 8230; And Miss Brill 8217;s eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling at all the other members of the company. Yes,
we understand, we understand, she thought 8211; though what they understood she didn 8217;t know.
Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the old couple had been. They were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and heroine, of course, just arrived from his father 8217;s yacht. And still soundlessly singing, still with that trembling smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen.
8220;No, not now, 8221; said the girl. 8220;Not here, I can 8217;t. 8221;
8220;But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there? 8221; asked the boy. 8220;Why does she come here at all 8211; who wants her? Why doesn 8217;t she keep her silly old mug at home? 8221;
8220;It 8217;s her fu-ur which is so funny, 8221; giggled the girl. 8220;It 8217;s exactly like a fried whiting. 8221;
8220;Ah, be off with you! 8221; said the boy in an angry whisper. Then: 8220;Tell me, ma petite chere 8211; 8220;
8220;No, not here, 8221; said the girl. 8220;Not yet. 8221;
On her way home she usually bought a slice of honey-cake at the baker 8217;s. It was her Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an almond in her slice, sometimes not. It made a great difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present 8211; a surprise 8211; something that might very well not have been there. She hurried on the almond Sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way.
But to-day she passed the baker 8217;s by, climbed the stairs, went into the little dark room 8211; her room like a cupboard 8211; and sat down on the red eiderdown. She sat there for a long time. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She unclasped the necklet quickly; quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying.
About the author:
Kathleen Mansfield Beauchamp Murry (14 October 1888 – 9 January 1923) was a prominent modernist writer of short fiction who was born and brought up in colonial New Zealand and wrote under the pen name of Katherine Mansfield. Her stories often focus on moments of disruption and frequently open rather abruptly.
Notes:
eiderdown n.鸭的绒毛,鸭绒被
rub vt.1.擦; 搓; 揉 2.涂;抹;搽 3.(使)相互磨擦;搓4.磨光;擦亮 5.触痛;惹恼 6.擦掉;磨去;使减色(常与out，off或away连用) 7.拓印(碑文等) vt. 038; vi.接触; 摩擦
vi.1.揉;按摩 2.互相摩擦 3.被擦掉(常与off或out连用) 4.使人恼火 n. 1.摩擦;按摩 2.磨损处;擦痛处 3.阻碍;困难 4.伤感情的事情(如嘲弄、指责等)
dab n.1.少许, 一点点 2.是…能手;做某事很在行;在某方面技术熟练 vt.1.抹(或敷、涂、擦)少许 2.快速擦拭 3.(用某物)轻触，轻按几下(面部等) 4.轻而快地擦掉(或抹掉) 5.(用某物)轻而快地涂上(或点上)…
rogue n.1.流氓;无赖 2.调皮捣蛋的人 3.离群的野兽 adj.行为失常的;暴戾的
tingle n.刺痛感 vi.有刺痛感
flutey adj.似笛声的,柔软清澈的声音
rotunda n.圆形建筑,圆形大厅
ermine n.貂,貂的白毛皮
toque n.无边女帽,羽饰丝绒帽
mug n.1.圆筒形有柄大杯 2.〈口〉容易受骗的人, 傻瓜 3.〈俚〉脸 4.一缸子(的量)
The text is written in the modernist mode, third-person limited point of view, without a set structure.
Mansfield 8217;s personification throughout the passage reveals a sense of loneliness belonging to Miss Brill for she not only fabricates a connection with the other park goers, but also personifies her inanimate piece of clothing by conversing with it as well as feeling for it.
Miss Brill is an English in Paris who earns a living by teaching English and nursing. In the foreign country and in a low social rank, she is isolated by the society and she feel lonely. Therefore, she tries her best to find the sense of belonging.However,at the time she falls into her illusion and feels that she is included by the society, the young couple 8217;s words break her dream and drag her to the reality.